


Ways of Hurt

by VanillaMostly



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Minor Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMostly/pseuds/VanillaMostly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mellarks return home after the reaping of 74th Hunger Games. [A brief character study of Mrs. Mellark]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways of Hurt

When we leave the Justice Building a load of cameras are shoved in our faces, so they don't turn on me. Not yet. My husband, he's never been a good liar. I can read him easy as a book. And my sons, they all take after him. The tension's just about as thick to suffocate, and I personally can't wait for it to blow up.

I'm the first one through the door of our bakery. Noah usually lags at the back, preferring to keep as much distance between us, but today he's right on my heel. The door doesn't even shut before he grabs my arm and spins me around.

"What is your _problem_?"

The door jangles open again; it's Ian and Cal. They stare at us, not daring to move. I can understand their shock.

It's the first time they've seen their dad, not dear mom, lose it. Mine too.

I cross my arms. The sneer on my face is partly true satisfaction. Finally, after twenty years, he lets it out. Finally, he quits his shitty pacifist act.

"What's my problem? I don't know. You tell me, Noah Mellark. You tell me!"

He shoots me a look of disgust. "You had one chance to say goodbye to Peeta and you tell him he's got no chance of coming back. That could be the last time you see him- do you even care? Don't you think you've hurt him enough?"

"Now why the fuck should I sugar-coat it? You think I should've given him a sweet mommy hug and kiss his hair and make things alright? News flash, Noah. He DOESN'T stand a chance-"

"You're his mother!" It's not Noah who shouts this; it's Cal. His face is beet red and Ian is doing his best to restrain him, but I doubt Ian wants to for much longer, the way he's looking at me.

"She's not my mother," Ian says before I can edge in a word. His voice is calmer than the rest of them, and it cuts deeper. "I'm not calling someone like that my mother."

He jerks Cal, who seems to get the gist. Cal's eyes are getting red again anyway. The two of them turn and walk to the back. I hear them pounding up the stairs. Cal's still raving but his voice is muffled.

Noah has moved to the counter, wiping down, as if we're even getting any customers today. I know he's just doing it so he won't have to talk to me.

We're back to square one, I see.

I open my mouth to finish what I wanted to say, but of course the moment's over. No one wants to listen to me scream. No one cares what I have to say. They've heard it all. And who am I trying to prove to? My sons have disowned me. My husband's dreaming of his pretty little coal miner's wife at this second. Even now he thinks he's hiding it well. Like I couldn't tell where he went right after we left Peeta. Bathroom, my ass. Why doesn't he just admit it? He went to see that Everdeen girl! Gave her a bag of cookies! Just so he could comfort her mother on the way out! Twenty years but no fucking difference. He'll be whispering her name when he dies. Stupid fool. That woman doesn't give one shit about him, then or now.

And he asks me why I said Peeta doesn't stand a chance? Hilarious. That's the truth and no one knows it better than him. The boy's already so soft it makes me sick. But put him in an arena with the love of his life? He'll strangle himself if it's to save her. This girl he hardly knows. She won't be trying at all to save him, that's for sure. Unlike him she's got decent sense. She's a fighter. Anyone can see that. Why can't Peeta have taken after me? But oh, he practically worships the ground his father walks on. Of course he'll take after him.

I leave Noah at the front and stalk to the kitchen, slamming the door behind me so hard the hinges almost come off. I wish they would. It'd be the perfect icing to top this perfect day.

I search the drawers and come up with my cig pack. It's definitely lighter than it was this morning. The boys took them. They think I don't know. They think I don't know a lot of things. Normally this would have set me off, but today's not normal, is it? So I just pinch one between my fingers and light it on the gas stove, and suck on it.

It usually makes me feel better.

I take another drag.

Another.

"Fuck!" I grab the nearest thing I see and swipe it onto the ground. It's our toaster and it makes a pathetic clunking noise when it makes impact. Doesn't even break. I kick the table, but all that does is give me throbbing toes.

This is so funny it makes me laugh. My laughter is creepy even to me. Then before I know it, I'm at the table, crying.

I hate crying. It makes me feel ugly, weak, and worst of all like I'm that stupid little girl from the past again. Ronnie Briggins, worthless trash. Child of a whore, or so my father would say. I never did get to find out if that's true. No one knows what happened to my mom after she ran away. Maybe she's an Avox. Maybe she's decomposed mutt food. Or maybe she really did end up somewhere out there with her boyfriend, and they're still alive right now with a happy slew of kids and grandkids.

She won't be missing me. Why would she? My dad can deny it how he wants but it's obvious whose child I am. I'm his spitting image. I remind my mom of him everytime she looks at me. The only thing she might have ever liked about me was that I took her place as my dad's new favorite punching bag. But even that didn't keep her here for long.

"Mom..."

It's Ian, my oldest. He'd come downstairs and he's watching me.

"I'm not your mother," I spit. "Remember?"

But he's not glaring like before. He's letting my balled-up tissues and puffy eyes distract him. Mellark men and their charity kindness. Noah's nice. That's why he didn't even blame me when I tricked him into sleeping with me. That's why he married me when I told him I was pregnant. That's why he didn't say anything when a few months later there was no baby. That's why he pretended to believe me when I said I miscarried.

Or maybe that wasn't because he's nice, but because he'd lost his girl by then. He'd settle for anyone, even Ratty Ronnie. He was going to be miserable either way.

"It's... okay. Peeta's strong. He- he can win. Sometimes it's about luck..."

I laugh again. My son's not even comforting me about the right thing. "He's not coming back."

Even if Peeta wins, he won't come back. Not without her. No, no. Our youngest boy can't live without the Seam girl. And God forbid, if he witnesses her death-

"It'll do him better to die there," I say.

From the corner of my eye I see Ian turn and leave. He slams the door as loudly as I did earlier. So at least one of my sons picked up something from me.

For the rest of the day, I sit there, smoking through the rest of my pack, and when they're all gone I stare at my cigarette stubs, listening to the clock tick. The sky darkens and Noah doesn't come in. Ian and Cal are nowhere to be found. The time for dinner comes and goes. Not that it matters. We never eat dinner together, anyway, and that's not going to change with this.

I think of Peeta, who's on a train to the Capitol right now, soon to be prepped for manslaughter. I imagine the future without him. It doesn't make me break into tears. Maybe it makes other mothers, but not me.

I'm used to people leaving.

Besides, even without the reaping, Peeta would have left me as soon as he turned eighteen. Cal's going to, I can see it in his eyes. Ian would have, but he's got to inherit the bakery. Noah, he's dying to, but he won't because he's nice or he's a coward. Both are equally likely.

I sit there until the stars come out and the moon is a sliver hanging above the trees. The moon's the same color of a corpse. It's a bit like my own pale, flabby skin.

I climb up the stairs, pass the hallway of firmly shut doors. I lie on my bed and hear Noah join me hours later. We keep to our sides of the bed, backs to each other, and none of us sleep.

 


End file.
